Anaphylaxis, or The Reaction That Brought Them Together
by OceanPenguin
Summary: "This isn't the harmless side effects of her allergies as she thought; this is anaphylaxis, a life-threatening allergic reaction that necessitated a visit to the hospital." During an akuma attack, Ladybug suffers from an allergic reaction. Includes reveal. AgedUp!Ladybug and AgedUp!Chat Noir. Ladynoir/Adrienette. Revised. COMPLETE.


**A/N:** Revised.

Happy New Year! I'm on break right now, and the muse absolutely insisted on writing this one. I suppose my own allergic reaction really made an impression on my subconscious, and this just popped out.

Because this deals with allergic reactions, I felt it best to give a short introduction about the vocabulary used here, so reading isn't interrupted with internet searches.

Allergic reactions, especially severe one, are serious business. Anaphylaxis refers to life-threatening allergic reactions, and they must be treated with an epinephrine auto-injector, also known as an EpiPen. Anti-histamines are drugs that oppose the histamine receptors in the body. Histamines are compounds that are released in response to allergic and inflammatory responses, and are responsible for much for the allergy reactions, like swelling. Blocking these compounds reduces allergic reactions. The asthma medicine referred to is applied using a spacer. The inhaler is inserted at one end and is pumped, releasing the aerosol drug. The person using it then inhales from the other end, taking a deep breath.

Prescriptions differ and uses of medicine differ. What I describe here comes from my own experience, and I'd love to hear if there are differences in your experience, if you have any.

Enjoy!

* * *

Ladybug sits in the empty park, breathing slowly. The tight feeling in her chest isn't going away, and as she inhales, the air sticks in her throat, almost as if her lungs were refusing entrance to oxygen. She struggles against the sensation, taking a large gulp of air and feeling the painful _suck_ as her lungs open fully. The twinge of pain in her chest annoys her, and she breathes deeply again, fighting the vise-like feeling of her closed chest. Sometimes, her allergies and the accompanying reactions would be frustrating, but this one took the cake.

As she breathes again, she hears the wheezing in her lungs, and fear plummets into her stomach. She inhales deeply, and closes her eyes when her chest feels even tighter than before. This isn't the harmless side effects of her allergies; this is anaphylaxis, a life-threatening allergic reaction that necessitated a visit to the hospital. She'd already had an allergic reaction once; would it be too much for the universe to ensure she'd never have one again?

Apparently not.

She's always known that her plant allergies would get her in trouble one day, but with all the allergy treatments, she didn't anticipate an allergic reaction outside of the clinic. She honestly should've known better. How many times has her doctor told her that allergic reactions could happen any time, even with patients who had treatment for years? How many times has the patient woman explained that an overload of plant material could trigger an allergic reaction? And how many times has that doctor _warned her to stay away from plants?_ Too many times to count, obviously. But at least she has her emergency allergy kit on hand. Ladybug silently congratulates herself for listening to the doctor for once.

"Damn," she mutters under her breath. "I hate that akuma."

She vaguely remembers being blasted with pollen from the akuma's attack, feeling the rush of adrenaline and the sense of horror that had shot through her system as she realized her allergies would be kicking in. Within seconds, it had become harder to breathe, and she had escaped to the deserted park to ride out the reaction, hoping that Chat could take care of the akuma by himself.

"I need to deal with something first!" she had called out reluctantly before she had left Chat alone.

"Come back soon!" he'd replied, looking confused, he hadn't questioned her decision. There are times they had to disappear during a fight, and this isn't the first time she had to leave. They are skilled enough to fight against the akuma alone, but neither wants to do that.

She closes her eyes, and sneezes a second later. It was a small one, but she knows that larger ones will come. As she reaches into her satchel for a tissue, her nose twitches, and she sneezes again. This time, she hurriedly wipes her nose to catch the leaking mucus, swiping multiple times to ensure that her nose is clean.

She doesn't need this right now. There is an akuma in Paris, blasting plants all throughout the city in an attempt to restore the natural environment of the world. If there is anyone else like her with severe allergies to plant material, they could be suffering from allergic reactions. And with the plants taking over the streets, it would be hard to access the hospitals and clinics they would need. Ladybug feels an absurd urge to twist the akuma apart and scatter its remains to the wind. While her fantasy would never become reality, the thought makes her feel better.

Ladybug rummages through her satchel as breathing becomes harder and sneezes come faster. The reaction had come on so quickly that there was little time to waste. When her hand closes around the familiar elongated shape, she pulls out the EpiPen and plunges the needle into her thigh muscle in the motion she has practiced so many times before. She breathes through the pain and counts to ten, thanking her doctor that the woman had prepared her for this day. Ladybug withdraws the injector and snaps the cap back on, placing it back into her bag. With the additional epinephrine coursing through her veins, she would recover from the allergic reaction.

But there were other things she has to do as well.

She reaches into her bag for her anti-histamines, popping the pills out of their packaging and swallowing them with a gulp of water. As she sighs for a moment, she plunges her hand back into her bag to withdraw the asthma inhaler and spacer, pumping the aerosol drug through the tube. Ladybug inhales deeply, holds her breath for a few seconds, and exhales. She repeats the process, holding her breath longer this time before exhaling, ensuring that the medicine reaches her lungs.

Ladybug can already feel her chest loosening. She is breathing more easily, and the wheezing is all but gone. Her nose slowly stops leaking mucus, and she carefully sweeps the used tissues into a plastic bag kept specifically for this purpose.

Now, she has to go to the nearest hospital or clinic, get checked by a doctor, and remain under observation for two hours. There could be something that she had missed in treating her reaction, and there could be smaller allergic reaction afterwards. Ladybug is also sure that there are prescriptions for drugs she has to pick up, and she also needs to dispose the EpiPen. It is simply not possible for her to keep the bloody needle in her bag; it is a walking biohazard, and she doesn't want to see it again, anyways.

Ladybug sighs as she realizes that she can't return to the akuma battle, and she owes Chat an explanation why. She wonders how he will take it; she's known about her allergies for three years now, but she's never told Chat. At first, Ladybug didn't know how to tell him, but as time went on and her allergies didn't interfere with akuma battles, she thought that he didn't need to know.

She's been friends with him long enough that she knows that this is just another bump in the road – a small one, at that. He's been there for her when her beloved puppy had passed away, when she didn't get accepted into her dream college, when her grandmother had passed away. Allergic reactions rank quite low in comparison.

Sometimes, she marvels at how close she and Chat have gotten. They're each other's confidante – she tells him everything first, things that she feels uncomfortable with or downright frightened about. Even Alya, her best friend for nearly a decade now, doesn't get every detail. Chat tells her things he keeps locked within himself – that he doubts his father loves him, how he doesn't want his career to be his life.

Ladybug thinks sometimes that if they ever made the transition to romantic partners, there would be little difference in their relationship, but sadly, that would never happen. She likes him, but she's also sure that her attraction is one-sided. Even so, she hasn't made any effort to curb it; it's a harmless crush that's going to go nowhere. Surely everyone needs a little fun in their life?

Standing up to find her partner, she turns to find a black shadow leaning against the bench, still as a statue. She can only guess at how long he's been standing there.

"When were you going to tell me?" His voice is soft, tinged with betrayal. His hand are cupped around jar with a black butterfly in it.

"Just now," she sighs, looking at him in the eye. "I'm sorry I didn't tell you, but I didn't think that it would matter."

"You have life-threatening allergies and you thought that _it didn't matter?_ " His voice rises on the last note, and Chat looks positively outraged. There is tense silence for a second.

"It didn't matter before," she defends herself. In the eight years she's been fighting alongside Chat, she has never been caught in the grasp of a plant attack. In the first five, she never even knew she was allergic to plants.

Switching tacks, she points at the jar. "Is that the akuma?"

He nods stiffly, but makes no move to hand the jar over.

Ladybug rolls her eyes and snatches the glass container. She releases the butterfly and quickly cleanses it, remembering to summon her Lucky Charm at the last moment. She throws the polka dot hat into the air-a hat, really?- and watches the swarms of ladybugs cleansing Paris.

"Thanks," she murmurs softly. "I'm sorry for leaving you alone to fight the akuma."

He snorts. "It wasn't that hard." There is no endearment attached, and she knows that he is truly angry. She knows that he will forgive her in time – he always does.

"Hey." she rests her hand on his shoulder. "I've never had one during battles before."

He twitches, clearly hearing what she has omitted. "That doesn't mean you haven't had them in your civilian form."

"That was three years ago, and it happened with a doctor nearby." She exhales. "Since then, I've kept an emergency kit on hand, and I know how to deal with it. Look, I'm fine." She spins in a circle, her arms raised.

She quirks an eyebrow at him. "Nothing to worry about."

"I still don't want you in danger." Chat taps her thigh, where blood was still trickling out of the puncture wound from the Epi-Pen. "You're not fine."

Her heart flutters a little at his statement, even though she knows that he's speaking as a concerned friend. Still, she indulges in the feeling – it's just a little harmless fun.

Ladybug shrugs. "I'm fine under the circumstances. Now help me go to the clinic. I just need a check-up," she adds when she sees the alarmed look on Chat's face. "The people at the clinic will make sure that I'm alright."

"And I can't go by myself because there might be other allergic reactions afterwards." She looks at him pleadingly. "Please."

Ever since Ladybug has realized that she likes Chat, she takes every chance she gets to spend more time with him. She schedules more patrols with him, lingers after an akuma fight longer, and joins him in more interviews with the press. He doesn't seem to mind, but he hasn't noticed her attentions, either. His obliviousness allows her to indulge in her crush; she can't imagine what she'd do if Chat knew she liked him.

He huffs, tucking the jar into his belt. "Fine. Just let me re-transform." He disappears behind a tree where she hears the munching of food and a furious chatter she assumes is from Chat's kwami. He comes back a minute later, face blank, and bends down so she can crawl onto his back. She takes her satchel with her as she does so, but pauses when a thought occurs to her.

"Would it look bad if Chat were seen carrying Ladybug through Paris?" she asks. He had done so before, but only under the cover of night when no one could see them.

He tilts his head, considering. "I think so, yes."

She speaks hesitantly, saying what they both know already. "I'll de-transform then."

There is a long pause before he nods. "Alright."

Marinette moves behind the tree he had been behind just a minute ago while he covers his eyes. She's not averse to the idea of revealing each other's identities. Knowing each other's civilian form would make meeting much more easier, and she is eager to meet her friend outside of the suit.

It was a smart decision not to tell each other their identities in the early days when they were just starting out, because they were unsure if they could trust one another. They didn't know if they would last, and if they themselves would be replaced by someone else.

But now, it's been nearly a decade since she's first met him, and she knows him well enough to say that he's one of her closest friends. Hawkmoth doesn't seem to be going away anytime soon, and it's better to solidify their relationship. And besides, if there's anyone she wants by her side, it's Chat.

However, every time she mentions the subject, Chat tenses up. She doesn't know why he's opposed to it, but she respects his feelings enough not to pry.

A flash of light blinds her momentarily when Tikki comes out of the earrings. Marinette cups her hand around Tikki when the kwami to fly in frantic circles around her, worried about her reaction. Marinette signals Tikki to stay quiet and motions towards her bag full of cookies, and Tikki phases through the material to hide.

She calls out that she's de-transformed, wincing when her voice sounds different. If Chat didn't want to reveal himself, she assumes that he doesn't like any clues to who she is either.

He covers his eyes and bends down. Marinette climbs onto his back, slinging her satchel across her body. She carefully places her hands on his shoulders and holds on with a firm grip.

"I'm ready," she says when she finishes adjusting her position.

"Where are we going?" His voice is low and he expands the baton into the air.

"St. Francis clinic in the 12th arrondissement." She sighs and looks around. "I'm not sure where we are. The akuma led us on quite a chase through the city. Hold up, let me use my phone."

She taps in the address to Google Maps, and activates the voice directions. The automated voice blaring out of the speakers draws a chuckle from Chat.

They leap through Paris, rising up and down as Chat extends and retracts his baton. She holds her phone close to his ear, directions pouring out as he travels along the road. She can see people pointing at them, snapping pictures on their phones. Marinette hopes that the buildings are too high for the spectators to capture a good photo to preserve her identity, but with the increase in technology in the past years, she knows that there'll be a clear, high definition image plastered on the Ladyblog tonight, her face circled and her name identified.

Sometimes, some things were too much to hope for.

She wonders if telling Chat her identity fell into that category. He was clearly uncomfortable about a reveal, but if she only revealed herself to him, would he accept it? She doesn't mind it being one-sided reveal; she feels better thinking that he knows who she is, so if any problem occurred, he could contact her quickly.

She resolves to tell him as soon as they reach St. Francis.

She taps him on the shoulder as he nears the clinic, asking him to drop her off several streets away. Marinette thanks him quietly as she places her feet on the ground, adjusting her cardigan around herself, wrapping it around herself for warmth and protection from his possible rejection. Chat remains standing away from her, covering his eyes. She wonders if it is for her and how much of it is for himself.

"It's okay if you turn around," Marinette says softly, looking at his back. "It's long past the time you should have learned who I am, anyway."

He stands still at her words, and then shakes his head. "I'd rather not look, if it's all the same to you."

Her heart plummets, and something lodges in her throat. She swallows frantically, but the lump refuses to budge.

He continues. "If you're willing to show yourself to me, then you should see me too, and I don't want the possible shock to worsen your condition."

Marinette smiles shakily, even though she knows that he won't see. "It won't. Only allergies trigger it, and I don't think I'll have another one anytime soon." She goes over to hug Chat, thoughtful as always.

He relaxes slightly under her touch. "I'd like to know, though. How about the next patrol on Sunday? You won't have any problems from your reaction then, will you?"

She shakes her head, and then remembers that he can't see her. "No. See you." She sets off at a light pace, swinging her way into St. Francis.

She alerts the receptionist that she has recently experienced and treated a moderate to severe allergic reaction, and is immediately sucked into the fast-paced check-up. Lights and carpet alternatively swirl around her as she is ushered into a room and her vitals are checked. The nurse sighs in relief when Marinette asks where to dispose of the EpiPen, smiling when he informs her that she was well prepared. He asks her a series of questions in rapid gun-fire, and she answers just as quickly. Within a few minutes, she is handed a list of prescriptions and is directed to the pharmacy to pick them up. The doctor instructs her on how to take the pills, and sends her home after two hours of monitoring shows no subsequent allergic reactions.

Marinette smiles as she makes her way out of the clinic, finding herself calm with the turn of events. She swings by the pharmacy to pick up her prescriptions, cramming the extra bottles of pills into her bag. She goes home and sleeps.

* * *

The next day is a Saturday, and she lounges in bed, having nothing to do. The doctor had banned her from any strenuous physical activity, so she calls Chat to inform him that she can't patrol with him in the next day or two. He doesn't pick up, so she leaves a voicemail on his baton instead.

She scrolls through the internet, checking the Ladyblog as she does so. Her suspicions are right; there is a new blog post with the headline photo of her and Chat on the way to the clinic. _Hero Helps Civilian Again,_ the title proclaims, and she clicks on the link to read.

It is a surprisingly nice, if albeit boring, article about Chat's heroism. Her face has been circled in red, but the photo is blurred and the barest outlines of her face can be made out. She is confused until she remembers Alya's policy on the Ladyblog about civilian pictures: blurred faces only. The author waxes poetic about her partner's kindness and willingness to help, claiming that it is the four thousandth, five hundred and seventy third time Chat has been seen with a civilian.

Marinette is impressed with the author's dedication.

She types her own name into the search bar afterwards, wondering if anyone else has posted a photo of her and Chat online. There are few results, mostly articles about her family's bakery. Then, she types Chat's name in.

An explosion of links pop up, as are normal with anything hero-related. Most of them boast clear photos of her and Chat leaping across the rooftops, and while most of the headlines are reasonable, some aren't.

 _Chat Noir's New Love Interest!_

 _Ladybug Has Abandoned Her Duties When Chat Takes Girl To Clinic!_

 _Civilian Convinces Chat to Run Away!_

She has a good laugh at some of them and resolves to show them to Chat tomorrow. Only the media could be this ridiculous.

There are many articles with her name tagged, and while she's unhappy with it, she knows that it is the world she lives in. Civilians in touch with the heroes of Paris don't get a lot of exposure; most of the focus is on Chat or Ladybug, something she has never been more thankful for. She can only hope that Chat hasn't searched his own name on the Internet if he wanted to wait for her to reveal herself.

Around noon, Marinette decides that she is hungry, and she heads out to fulfill her cravings for a croissant. In the mess that was yesterday, she had forgotten to tell her parents about her allergic reaction. In a life where her parents feel that her superhero status is a threat to her health (which it undeniably is), she wants them to focus on her civilian life. She tries to keep in touch, calling at least four times a week and visiting the bakery at least three times a month.

She's due for a visit anyway, so she resolves to tell her parents about her reaction while she is there. On the way, a few people point, recognizing her from the photos online, but for the most part, they leave her alone.

She pops in for a quick bite and a conversation. Her parents are understandably concerned, but her reassurances seem to have hit the mark this time; they let her go with a few warnings to be careful and a bag of pastries for the trip home. Marinette promises to call them at night since she didn't have patrol this evening.

"With that handsome cat?" her mother winks, and Marinette groans. Sabine Cheng has her heart set on grandchildren, but with Marinette being twenty-three, grandchildren were far away. Still, it hasn't kept her mother from hoping.

"We're just _friends,_ Mom," Marinette rolls her eyes. "Boys and girls can be friends without any romance."

"That's what they all say," Sabine teases.

" _Mom,_ " Marinette elongates the word in a way she has rarely done since her teenage years.

"Have a good day, sweetheart!" Her mother drops the topic – for now.

Marinette waves goodbye as she heads out into the afternoon sun. She'll tell Alya about the reaction later, but she guesses her friend already knows from the online articles. Marinette sighs, already envisioning Alya's response. It will probably be written in all capital letters and excessively adorned with exclamation marks for good measure. Still, it was just how Alya cared, the same way Marinette baked obsessively when a friend had a cold.

Outside her apartment building, she bumps into someone, tripping herself and sprawling across the sidewalk. The bag of pastries, thankfully, remains upright even as she falls. A flush of shame crawls up her cheeks, the heat burning her face.

"I'm so sorry, I'm just so clumsy," she apologizes profusely. She hurriedly picks herself up and brushes herself off. A pale hand reaches out to help her. "Are you alright?"

An amused male voice answers. "I'm fine, Marinette."

She looks up to see Adrien. "Hey! How are you doing?" She smiles at her friend. They've kept in touch through weekly get-togethers on Sundays along with Alya and Nino, talking over coffee in a quaint café near their old middle-school. While she still feels a flicker of her old crush for Adrien, she knows now that it was a childish infatuation. Besides, she's much more interested in a certain black cat these days. But if Chat wasn't around, perhaps Adrien would be the one she fixates on.

"Good. How're you?" He stuffs his hands in his pockets, a sign that he is nervous.

Marinette tilts her head. There is no reason for him to be uncomfortable; they've been good friends for a decade. Did something happen?

"Alright, if you didn't count the allergic reaction I had yesterday," she shrugs. She might as well tell Adrien about it. Marinette suspects that the news is going to go around somehow, and she wants to tell her friends in person. "It wasn't too bad."

"Actually, that's what I wanted to talk to you about," he blinks rapidly. His face is flushed. "When were you going to tell people about it?"

"In the next twenty-four hours, I suppose." Marinette's amused at how similar Adrien sounds to Chat. The same feeling of betrayal is felt in his words. Not for the first time, she thinks about introducing them. And not for the first time, she decides against it. It was a friendship she'd really like to see, but she was also unwilling to give away her other identity. The meeting in her head would only be a dream.

She narrows her eyes as a sudden thought occurs to her. "Wait. How did you know that I had an allergic reaction? I've only told my parents so far, and I know that no one was there when I was in the park. None of the online articles even hinted at an allergic reaction."

"I, uh, I saw you," he offers, not quite looking her in the eye.

"Where?" she asks urgently. She has to tell Chat about this. If a civilian had seen her, then it had to be near the park, and Adrien had to be fairly close to see her or hear her conversation with Chat. She fights back a wave of panic as she realizes that her friends would know that she is Ladybug. "Where did you see me?"

"The park." His answer is soft. "During the akuma attack."

A dull roar rises in Marinette's ears as she realizes that her cover is blown. Adrien saw her in the park. She treated her reaction as Ladybug. Adrien knew she was Ladybug.

Marinette turns to run. "Sorry, Adrien, I've got to go." She pastes a smile on her face and moves past him-or, at least, she tries to. Her wrist is caught in a vice-like grip, and as she tries to jerk herself free, his grip grows tighter.

"Marinette, stop, I'm not going to give it away!" he whispers harshly. "Don't you know who I am?"

No, she didn't know who he was! The park was empty yesterday; she'd checked before she had gone in to ensure her own safety. The only person she had the conversation with was…"Chat?" she breathed.

"Who else?" His smile is shaky and his grip loosens.

She exhales a wavering breath, leaving her wrist in his grip. "You're Adrien?" She runs her eyes over his face, mentally comparing it to her partner's. They have the same green eyes, the identical blond hair, and the pert nose.

"You're not angry?" He lets go of her wrist.

"Why would I be mad?" Marinette is genuinely confused. She's shocked. Shock isn't anger.

"Didn't we promise to meet each other in tomorrow?"

"Yes," she says slowly. Then it clicks. "Oh. You think I'm mad because you didn't uphold your end of the promise. You think you've violated my privacy."

He nods. "I peeked when you walked to the clinic."

She laughs in response, startling him. "I'm not mad, I promise," she reassures him. "I was willing to reveal myself without you revealing yourself, and I've wanted to know who you were for a long time now."

"Ah." He stares into the distance. "I've wanted to know about you, too."

She laughs. "I wouldn't have guessed. You're uncomfortable whenever I bring up the subject."

"I…am sorry about that." He sounds guilty.

"Don't be." She shrugs. "People are different."

She sighs and adjusts her bag of pastries on her arm. While it is a relief to know that Adrien was Chat, a friend she could trust, she would have to find another person to crush on. She knew from her weekly coffee meetings that he was single, but there was no sign of Chat ever being interested in Ladybug, nor Adrien being interested in her. She could only come to one conclusion: he was interested in someone else.

She could feel her heart deflating. Her shoulders slump. It seems that her harmless, fun crush isn't so harmless after all. She really needs to stop indulging herself, sometimes.

"I've got to go," She motions at the building. "There's a few designs I need to finish." By this point, she is lying through her teeth. But she still wants space to acknowledge the new turn of events, and being in Adrien's presence isn't helping. "Are we still meeting in the park?"

He tilts his head at her. "Can we move that meeting up to today?" He smiles. "There's someone I've wanted to go out with for a while, and I'd like some advice on how to do it."

Her face stays upright through sheer will. Her suspicions are right; Adrien _does_ like someone who isn't her. She knows she needs to let the crush go, but one more day with him couldn't hurt, right? She huffs when she realizes that she's indulging herself again. But she does want to see him happy, even if it wasn't with her.

Perhaps another time would be better, but she's always had a hard time saying no to Chat. He probably came to her because she is the one least likely to ask probing questions about his person of affection out of their friend group.

"Sure." She motions to her bag of pastries. "Just let me put these away. There's some cream-filled ones, and I don't want them to spoil in the sun."

"Can I come up with you?" He looks hopeful.

She had hoped to splash her face with water to stave off the heat in her eyes she could foresee coming in the near future. But saying no isn't an option; it would look weird and her sudden hostility would give him the impression that something is wrong. Well, something _is_ wrong, but it is neither of their fault.

She nods her assent.

He sweeps his arm out in a gentlemanly gesture. "After you, milady."

Marinette laughs and places her hand on his. "Of course, my gentle knight."

They glide into the building and press the button to the elevator.

"So, who is this person you want to go out with? They must be very special to have captured your attention." She teases. Marinette knows that the worst thing to do was to poke at her wound, but she couldn't help herself. Besides, she is curious.

The _ding_ of the elevator interrupts their conversation, and Marinette punches the button for the third floor.

"Yeah. Someone very special." Adrien has a dreamy smile on his face, clearly lost in his own world.

Marinette looks away. For some reason, even though she knows that Adrien's special someone isn't her, the affirmation still causes a pang to go through her heart.

"Hey, what's with the blue face?" He nudges her lightly. "I mean, there's the allergic reaction, but you didn't seem so sad before. Anything new happen in the past ten minutes?"

Other than her crush being, well, crushed? "Other than finding out you're Chat? Not much," she answers lightly. "I'm just worried about these pastries."

"The pastries _are_ the priority here," he nods sagely.

She laughs. "Yes, they are."

The elevator doors open. They step forward, heading towards the third door on the right, Marinette's apartment. He leans against the wall as she fiddles with the key and the lock.

"Come on in," she pushes the door open. "I know it's kind of messy, but that's what you get for coming up here without a day's warning."

She sets the cream-filled pastries into the fridge, and leaves the rest out on the kitchen counter. Growing up in a bakery has taught her to rarely place bread in a cold place.

Adrien has settled himself onto the sofa.

"Give me a minute," she calls out as she heads to the bathroom. "I've got to use the restroom, and I think I'll need some pencil and paper to take notes."

"What notes?" His voice is puzzled.

"That person you wanted to date? You wanted some tips on courting them, right? I'll need to take some notes down; my memory's horrible." She's exasperated as she digs through her desk in her bedroom, searching for a notebook and a writing utensil. If the person he likes is as special to him as he says they are, how could he forget about the advice session he wanted today so easily? And he just asked her twenty minutes ago.

Marinette sighs as she finally pulls out an old notebook and a pen. She heads to the bathroom, quickly splashing some water onto her face and drying herself off with a towel.

She leans into the mirror, assessing her expression. She looks dejected with her downcast eyes and slanted eyebrows, nothing what she should look like on a trip to the park. Marinette pulls her eyes up and attempts to lift her eyebrows, but the expression still looked gloomy, but not as downcast as before. She supposes it would have to do. What other option is there?

Marinette walks out of the bathroom, taking her notebook and pen with her. She finds Adrien tracing the fabric pattern on her sofa, lost in a world of his own.

"Hey," she says, trying to shake him out of his reverie.

"Hey," he replies absently. He's still mesmerized with the pattern in her sofa, which is uncharacteristic of him. She's been in this apartment for two years, and she's hosted enough parties that he's attended that the sofa shouldn't have been new to him by now.

"Let's go." She taps him on the shoulder, grabbing him when he doesn't respond.

"Coming." He leans against her as she pulls him out of the apartment, maintaining skin contact much longer than necessary. He's done it before, but usually when he was so tired he was sleeping on his feet.

"Adrien, are you sleepy?" She is faintly amused by his behavior, but also annoyed with it. She's his friend, yes, but this falls into the realm of inappropriate behavior while awake.

"I'm fine. I'm sorry." He apologizes, and quickly straightens. They stride down the hallway towards the elevator, where his questions come so quickly that she forgets to write them down. After a while though, she notices something odd with his questions.

He's asking her what she likes, not what she thinks his crush likes.

"Marinette, you like your coffee with two pumps of caramel and a pump of hazelnut, right?"

"We've been having coffee together for three years, Adrien, and my order has not changed."

"What is your favorite dessert?"

"If you haven't tasted my mother's macaron recipe, you haven't lived."

"Parks calm you down the most."

"Which is why I chose to treat my reaction in a park."

He nods, pleased with himself.

She sighs. It would be up to her, it seemed, to put him back on track. "Adrien, aren't you supposed to be asking me what you think your crush likes?"

He opens his mouth to answer, but she barrels on, annoyed.

"And I know that girls can be similar sometimes, but you really can't just take my answers and apply it to whomever you like. If you ask more specific questions and give me her personality traits, I might be able to provide better answers. "

He successfully answers this time, a sly twinkle in his eye. "But I am asking you what my crush likes."

She glares at him. "Adrien! Didn't you hear what I said about not all girls being similar? Unless the person you like has the exact same taste as I do, there's no way they're going to like what I like, unless there's some freaky clone version of me walking around!"

He smiles, not at all perturbed with her outburst. "You're doing just fine."

Marinette stared at him, nonplussed. "Unless the person you like is me, there's really no way this is going to work." And we all know that you don't like me, she added silently. False hope is the last thing she wants.

"What makes you think I don't like you?" He has the gall to look confused.

She quirks an eyebrow. "You don't! You don't pay any more attention to me than you do to Alya and Nino, so I know you think of me as just a good friend. In our _alternate identities_ ," she hisses the phrase, "you don't notice anything I do. I pay more attention to you nowadays, and you treat me the same. It all leads me to the same conclusion: you cherish me as a friend, but not as a romantic prospect."

"I sense jealousy," he teases.

"Why should it matter to you?" She throws her hands up into the air. " _I'm_ not the one you're going out with!" She could feel her face getting red with tears. She really shouldn't have agreed to this trip.

He grabs her hands and hold them there. "I care," he whispers, "because I like _you_. And if you feel jealous about who I want to date, then that means that you like me too. "

He leans over to hug her, brushing his mouth over her lips. "Does that feel platonic to you?"

 _Oh._ She really needed to consider more possibilities sometimes. This explanation made sense-and also helped explain the inconsistencies in Adrien's behavior today.

"Question," she whispers back. "Is this how you usually behave towards those you like?"

He exhales a breath, whooshing past her ear. "Marinette, I've been like this with you every time you're dressed in polka dots. Please don't tell me this is the first time you've noticed it."

She laughs shakily. "I thought that was just how you were. And besides, I was so focused on you when you had cat ears that I really didn't think that your flirtations were anything special."

He releases her from their hug. "Please. I spent so long coming up with those witty lines."

She looks up at him. "I'm not really the same person when I'm a bug," she says. "We are two similar, but separate, identities."

He nods. "I understand. It's the same with me and the cat. But do you really think I would have asked you out if I thought that I only liked the bug? And judging by your jealousy today, I'm willing to say that you like me when I'm Adrien, not only when I'm a cat."

"Yeah." She exhales. "Why did you find me today, instead of waiting until tomorrow?"

He sighs and turns to face her. "Do you want to know why I didn't want to reveal myself?"

"No. Why?" Confusion swirls in her.

"I like you as you, Marinette, and as Ladybug. But as Marinette, you never showed any interest in me beyond that of a friend, and it became pretty clear that you like Chat. I wasn't ready to tell you who I was, because that meant I would also know who Ladybug was. What if you weren't Ladybug? I would have had to choose between you and someone else, and I didn't want to do that. So I stalled for time."

She nods. "Stuck between a rock and a hard place?" Relief floods through her. So Adrien did like her; she just never noticed it because she was too fixated on Chat.

"Very."

She takes his hand. "Aren't you glad we are who we are?"

He hums. "So, so happy."

"So are you going to ask me out now?" She playfully tweaks his nose.

He grins. "How about now?"

Her heart blooms. "Now sounds fine."

They amble towards the park, talking about nothing and everything. She enjoys his company, reveling in the ease they have with each other; their partnership dynamic translates well to their civilian lives. The sunlight slides past slowly, bathing their skins in a golden hue. When Marinette's phone buzzes with texts from Alya about Chat giving a piggyback ride to Marinette yesterday, they both laugh. Marinette simply sends Alya a selfie of her and Adrien, and the angry vibrations settle down. She marvels about how an allergic reaction – an allergic reaction, of all things – could lead to a date with Adrien.

They sit in the peaceful park on a bench, admiring the trees from a distance. She is content.

* * *

 **A/N:** There is an allergy clinic on the intersection of Boulevard de Pipicus and Rue de Sahel, and it is also located in the 12th neighborhood of Paris. However, it isn't called St. Francis.


End file.
